


100 Words Stories

by Smilla



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Drabbles, Gen, Purgatory
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-11-29
Updated: 2012-05-25
Packaged: 2017-10-26 16:57:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 1,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/285693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Smilla/pseuds/Smilla
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Drabbles, each 100 words straight. Written for various prompts/challenges.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Homeopatic

He takes the gun from the ground, slaps it in Sam’s hand. Dean moans softly in the background and Sam shakes his head, steps back.

Sam! he says. Sharp, forceful, and Sam straightens. Fourteen and still growing, but the horror in his wide eyes is too young, his pupils blown out to capture the light.

Look at me, he says, look at me! I can’t do it, okay? I can’t and Dean can’t. Sam’s eyes fill at that, his gaze strays to Dean, rocking against a tree.

You shoot it. You hear? You shot it and, this time, don’t miss!  
\--


	2. Exercise in Futility

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: It's the Fall that'll Kill You.

Sometimes Dean imagines himself doing it. He uses a gun. Dad’s old Colt. Well oiled, weight cool and familiar in his hand.

He has a drink: vain attempt to steady his hands. Offers some to Sam. But that _depends._

Dean tries to see the scene playing: would Sam beg? Dean’s not sure he knows how to. Unless he’s drunk.

Maybe he would. It’s _for what_ that frightens him.

Dean avoids looking at Sam’s eyes. And that never changes.

The rest varies: sometimes Dean shoots at Sam’s head. Sometimes it’s night. He always, always ends blistering his lips with hot steel.  
\--


	3. Gifted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: sight.

Lancing pain spikes right through his brain, yellow walls giving away to white, a superimposition of images until it settles on an unknown place.

A poster hangs on the wall, two happy-faced children against a background of beaches and golden sand: blood splatters on it when Dean’s head shatters in a shower of tiny shards of bones.

The pain builds, every fiber in his body sizzles hot-to-freezing. A scream lodged so low he can't.

Breathe.

He blinks; his sight fills with Dean's wide eyes. His hand is heavy on his shoulder, and leaning on him has never been so easy.   
\--


	4. A Formal Test of Fitness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: hearing.

He'd do anything to shut her up, but even when he shoots her (die, you bitch) he keeps hearing her voice, those harsh words, the wicked lies (I believed that, once).

He'd do anything to save Dean.

He shakes his head, looks at the body at his feet (small and pretty, innocent). It is not true (only part of it) and Dean's sacrificed everything for him, for Dad, their family. The mess is not Dean's (mine, mine, my fault).

He kneels on the ground, hands on his ears until everything mutes. He only needs a moment (then I will go).   
\--


	5. Possession

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: omelet, tidy, examined.

"Will you do it?"

Dean was examining his omelet, fork and knife held at a precise angle, head bent and hair golden.

"Yes," Castiel said.

The cutlery fell from Dean's hands; the handle of the knife ended in a puddle of glutinous, red substance that exploded in a minor eruption. Dean raised his head, showed his eyes, minuscule shards of sun swimming in green. He smiled, hint of fear in the curve of his mouth.

He looked around. "Here?"

"Yes," Castiel repeated.

Dean tidied wrinkles on his jacket, nodded.

Castiel, elated, said, "Close your eyes." And slid slowly inside Dean.

\--


	6. tears of mud

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt, damp.

The swamp talks with tears of mud.

Dean blinks rain out of his eyes, shouts, "Shut up."

His trapped leg cramps when he twists it and blood seeps around the twig in his thigh.

The swamp says, "Rest, Dean." Dean punches squishy sludge, throws a fistful of it to its invisible lips.

"Stay," it answers. "We want you."

Dad's three states over chasing Leshies. Sam's chasing dreams in the opposite direction. The mire is a damp embrace: cold, malleable and unlike any other Dean's ever known.

Dean says, "Fuck you." He warns with a single shot. "Already got a family."

\--


	7. only at evening, as he returns

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: melody.

"You haven't eaten," says the car with a low rumble. Under his hand, the warm leather vibrates uncontained worry.

The vista is sienna fields burned by summer. The wind brings the smell of smoke, carries it inside Sam's nostrils and down his throat, to his frozen heart.

"We should stop," the car says, the words black and smooth. Sam gives gas and she speeds off on a long sigh.

Sam never answers, fearful of breaking the spell. But at night, when the engine ticks a lulling rhythm, he dreams of the time he will. We got him back, he'll say.  
\--


	8. your own way of looking at things

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: high.

The cuts on his arm weep blood on the dirty floor. It gleams in the dark, comes alive in swirls and lines and a perfect circle. Stained blood rushes fast in his veins, an over flown river.

He rides the high against a wall. The bricks scrape his fingertips while voices bang promises against his skull. Better, they say, faster. The room lightens red, smells of revenge. Sam strokes it lovingly. Ruby, a shadow in his shadow, is bigger than her petite un-dead body.

Sam mouths a silent mantra. A single syllable, familiar and startling like a child's first word.

\--


	9. The Inevitable Workings of Natural Law

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: crust.

The landscape's barren and empty only to those who don't know where to look. But Sam does, and he sees life crowding every bright lit color. The little puffs of dust he and Dean leave on the flaking soil are iridescent, vivid sign of their passage. Sam turns around, holds them in the ochre air, smiles delighted when they blow up in steaming waterfalls.

Dean averts his eyes. Sam's arm falls.

"What are you thinking about?" he asks Dean.

"Just you, Sammy."

Sam breathes his happiness into the radiant red of the earth. She answers eager and full of possibilities.

\--


	10. I Lived In My Head

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No Prompt.

He stands at the entrance until the dust settles. He doesn't really want to go inside, walk amidst the memories his father hid like shameful thoughts.

The devil's trap on the floor comes alive under his flashlight, each line drawn straight, each arc and circle and symbol curved perfectly by John's firm hand. The trap's intact. He steps inside it boldly, back straight, head held high.

See? He thinks, see? You were wrong. I'm not a monster.

Sadness burns acidic in his stomach. He grabs a handful of pictures. For Dean. As far as Sam's concerned the rest can burn.  
\--


	11. Kikai Boys

The worst are the children. They come out in the half-light, wandering aimless through the trees with their thready clothes, their missing eyes and limbs. They were killed too young to get what happened, caught in between: monster and human: a scatter of blond hair in the brown fur, the red color of a t-shirt covering scaled skin, a shoe over a clawed foot. They shuffle by Dean without noticing him.  
At night, Dean hears their sobbing, cries for moms and dads that will never come, shrill howls when one of them get caught. Prey in life as in death.


	12. Hell, again

Cas heals him after each fight, cuts and broken bones and bruises and ruptured organs fixed with a gentle tap of his fingers. Dean’s usually too out of it to say thanks, caught in the memory of pain. When Dean breathes again, they sleep, or Dean does, while Cas stands guard, pajama still candid under his trenchcoat. 

After, Dean’s as good as new, body ready to be broken and clawed at as they fight their way through the next pack of monsters. 

It’s been the same each day: a routine so familiar to his body, Dean settles into it easily.


End file.
